


how you'd be over me looking in my eyes

by mosaical



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaical/pseuds/mosaical
Summary: Is Father more important than me now? What do I have to do, send you another photo?Cersei calls Jaime after an argument with Robert. Jaime is busy, but that's never stopped her before.





	how you'd be over me looking in my eyes

Cersei had been so happy to marry Robert, once upon a time. Once upon a time he was handsome and she was young and she thought that even though it wasn't Jaime, even though it could never be Jaime, at least it was something. At least it was Robert.

That hadn't lasted very long at all, of course, and looking at herself in the mirror now, she wondered how she could have ever been so stupid, so silly and flighty and dim-witted. 

Cersei tossed the concealer away with a sigh of disgust. Robert had never hit her face before – had never hit her anywhere before, save for a few times where he had come very close and a couple others where he had shoved her a little too hard. He never looked her in the eye, after, and that made her spitefully glad. It made her want to _make_ him. To force him to look into the face of what he had done, to let him know that she wasn't cowering, wasn't frightened. To let him know that she was not any of those weak, frivolous things – but that she was _furious_ instead, and that her rage would burn it all down before she let him touch her again.

It wouldn't matter. She knew that. The only thing that ever mattered were the wishes of Tywin Lannister, and if her dear father wanted her to stay married to a drunken, whoremongering brute, so be it. Robert would fuck her when he liked and he would ignore her when he liked and he would come inside of her with Lyanna's name on his mouth when he liked, and none of it mattered.

The next time Robert slapped her, she would be ready for it, and she would hit him back, and twice as hard.

She wanted to type out what happened to her, when she took her phone in hand and texted Jaime. She wanted to tell him about Robert, about how she had embarrassed him so badly in front of Ned Stark that he couldn't wait until they were alone before hitting her. She wanted to tell him about the look on Ned's face when he did it, bumbling buffoon that he was. That they both were. She wanted his rage, his all-consuming fury. She wanted his fingers to tremble with his anger as he typed out all the awful things he would do to her husband. And he would. She knew that much. Jaime loved her so much that he would gladly murder Robert, just for her. As bloody or as clean as she liked.

She would want it bloody, of course.

Cersei took a breath, and typed: _Come to the house. I need you._

It sated a deep, hungry longing inside of her when immediately he started to reply; it had taken but seconds for that little bubble to pop up on the screen. That was how much he loved her. That was always how much he loved her. He never made her wait. Never.

_Can't. I'm in a meeting. What's wrong?_

Cersei chewed on the inside of her cheek as she typed out her next message. _Robert hit me._ She stared at it, and erased it. _I have a bruise on my face._ She deleted that, too. _I want you to kill him. I want you to smash his skull open. I want to lick his blood off your fingers._ Only two of those things were true. She wanted to be the one to kill him. She deleted it. _I want you to get rid of Robert._

She stared at that one, the last one, the longest – on and on, stretching into several minutes until Jaime broke her out of what felt a little like a trance.

_Cersei?_

_I need you,_ she typed. _I want to fuck you in our bed. Robert is gone. We could. Come to me._

She hit send.

She stared at that responding bubble, waiting and waiting. She imagined Jaime sitting around a table of boring old men, all who were balding and fat or too thin with age. Father would be sitting at the opposite end of the table, of course, none the wiser. She imagined Jaime growing hard in his slacks, imagined his throat bobbing when he swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought of taking her where Robert had taken her so many times before. They'd never done it in the bed in her house. It wasn't really her house. It had always been Robert's, and it always would be, and the bed was tainted in a way that only sleeping with Jaime in it would ever solve.

But it wouldn't happen. She knew that. Jaime was taking too long to reply.

Cersei didn't care. She stood and untied her robe, dropping it in a pile of silk at her feet as she turned away from the vanity and laid on the bed, sprawled out in nothing but her underwear, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to touch herself, but there was nothing. There was too much of Robert still on her, and in her mind, festering like the bruise that made her cheek ache.

Tomorrow she would go out, shopping and making business arrangements and chatting with her circle of insipid, giggling, idiotic girlfriends, and she wouldn't use the concealer at all. She would let everyone know, and then Jaime would know, and then she would have to spend hours calming him down.

It didn't matter. She would take that risk, just to humiliate Robert. She would take it again and again.

Finally, her phone buzzed. It felt like it had been an eternity, but when she looked at the time only a few minutes had passed.

_Are you okay?_

Cersei almost rolled her eyes, but then she remembered how long it had taken him to respond. He had warred with himself, and the side that worried for her always had won out over the side that wanted to come straight to her and rip her underwear off and bury himself deep inside of her for ages, until all the world ended and it was nothing but them, forever.

 _I'm wet,_ she typed, and found as she dipped a hand between her legs and pushed her underwear aside that she wasn't wrong. Imagining Jaime wringing the life from Robert's fat neck, making his eyes bulge and his face turn purple, had been enough to start it. Imagining them fucking in this very bed afterwards was enough to keep it going, and entirely on a whim Cersei leaned up and cast her phone's camera down at herself. Her hair was still damp from the shower she had taken after Robert left. It had been long, first scalding hot and then so cold that she had spent a good ten minutes shivering pathetically in front of the mirror when she got out. It still hadn't cleansed her of her anger.

But nothing ever did.

Cersei stretched out on the bed, careful to keep her face out of sight, and took a set of photos she examined closely before picking one out of the bunch. She sent it to Jaime, one with her back arched and a hand squeezing at her tits, just the way he always liked.

Cersei knew how to wait, despite those who would claim otherwise, but it still didn't make the impatience any less grueling, seeing that bubble appear and then vanish and reappear again on her screen. While she waited, she idly ran her fingers between her thighs, sinking back into thoughts of Jaime. Right now he would be looking at that picture, saliva pooling in his mouth. Someone would say something to him across the table, and his head would snap up, heat in his belly but not in his face. Her brother was a professional, after all. His cock would be painfully hard, and he would be thinking about Cersei being there with him, under the table, her lips spread open around him, her head rising and falling and rising again. It would be demeaning for neither of them only because it was _them,_ and nothing they did together was ever demeaning.

Her phone buzzed. She looked down and smiled.

_You don't play fair._

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and then typed out a message with one hand while the other burrowed deeper against her cunt. She circled a thumb around her swollen clit, the way Jaime always did but not quite as gentle, not now. _Are you going to make me wait?_

_I can't leave this meeting. Father would kill me for it._

_Then stay with me, at least._ Cersei pressed a finger inside of herself, her pleasure released in a slow sigh. _Is Father more important than me now? What do I have to do, send you another photo?_

It was beginning, and all of her was starting to relax now, not completely but close, and it was making the pain in her face and her head seem like nothing at all compared to the sparks shooting up her spine. Robert was nothing, had always been nothing, and she knew that, especially now in this moment. It had happened before: the second she came, she would be thinking about it again, thinking about Robert and his misplaced bravery for even thinking to lay hands on her. She would make her father ask about it, when they had lunch tomorrow. And she would tell him the truth. Nothing much would come of it, but there would be a conversation between her father and her husband, and her husband never won those conversations. Her father would threaten to pull his support from Robert's second campaign and even his entire legacy if he ever laid a hand on her again, and Robert would get that buffoonish look on his face he always got when he knew he was defeated.

 _Are you touching yourself?_ Cersei read the message with half-lidded eyes, and it made her smile wider, just a little. She could hear his voice in her head, breathless and quiet. She wanted to call him. To hear the strain in his voice as he locked himself in some empty room at the offices, the tremor when he asked it, like he would have liked nothing more.

_I am. Don't you wish it were you here inside of me? I need you, Jaime._

_Fuck Cersei you're the devil you know that?_

Cersei could hear the fondness there, could almost feel it through the screen. She looked at the way it was worded, biting her lip. Jaime's grammar always went to shit when he was too busy thinking about fucking her. She pushed her hips closer and drove her fingers deeper, reaching for that spot that usually made her vision go white but only ever when Jaime touched it. She stared at the ceiling, gritting her teeth. It wasn't enough. She looked at the photo of Jaime above their messages instead, and it was better. Only a little.

 _I want to call you,_ she typed. _Make an excuse. Get out of the meeting._

Jaime didn't reply, not for two minutes, and Cersei watched the blank screen. No bubble, but she knew. She stroked her fingers against her chest, feeling a nipple harden under her fingertips. She licked a thumb slick and rubbed it there over the peak, to pretend that it was Jaime's mouth hot and wet against her. It was an extremely poor echo of that sensation. She sometimes wished she had stronger, bigger hands, because then she would be like Jaime, because then when they were apart she could touch herself and imagine that Jaime was there with her, always. But she didn't need it, not really. She'd always had a very good imagination.

Her phone rang, and she answered with a laugh. “What was your excuse?”

Jaime sighed on the other end. “I told him it was Tyrion. I know. Father looked at me like I killed his cat. If he was someone that liked cats. I'm going to need a good explanation for him after this.”

“You will.” It was a promise. Cersei almost told him then, about Robert, about the bruise, but then she dug her fingers against the inside of her thigh and let the sting wash away her desperation. Tomorrow. She could wait that long.

Jaime must have heard the hitch in her breath, because there was one from him in return, heavy and sharp. “Are you...?”

“Yes,” Cersei hummed, tipping her knees apart and stretching her legs out. She shoved a few pillows beneath her shoulders and head, then slid her hand back towards her cunt, her palm grinding against her clit when she pushed two fingers inside of herself. “ _Yes,_ Jaime. I'm so close. I want you to fuck me. I want you to be here.”

“I know,” Jaime whispered, like the breath had been driven from him entirely. On his end there was shuffling, noise and footsteps and a door clicking, and then silence. “I want to be there. You have no idea just how dull these bloody meetings are.”

“I have some idea,” she said blandly. “Isn't Mace Tyrell a part of them?”

“I don't want to talk about Mace, Cersei.”

“Good. Neither do I.”

“What are you doing?”

“I'm fucking myself with my fingers.” She heard Jaime make a noise almost like a whimper, and she slowly felt herself grin. “But I wish they were your fingers. I keep trying to imagine it.”

“How's that working out for you?” Her brother's voice was low and soft, rumbling in her ear, and she pressed the phone close with a little sigh of pleasure, knowing that she could come just on that alone when she was this desperate, just listening to him for long enough.

“Much better now,” she said honestly, fingers flicking at her clit again. She felt like liquid heat, swimming in it, drowning. “I'm so wet, Jaime.” Her voice trembled, which wasn't something it did often, not unless she was at the end. Jaime knew that better than anyone. “I want you inside of me. Your fingers. Your tongue. Your cock. I want your mouth on me, on my tits, on my cunt. I want you, brother. Right now. I want to feel you inside me and around me.”

“Oh, _fuck,_ Cersei.” Everything she'd said was the truth, but what she had really wanted was that – right there, the ruined tremor in his voice. She could almost see him, holed up in some bathroom or empty office, palm pressed to his mouth so he wouldn't moan as he took himself in hand, imagining that it was hers in the same way that she was imagining the fingers inside of her were his instead of her own.

“I'm so sick of Robert,” she said, and she hadn't meant to, but it was true and judging by the way Jaime kept breathing heavily on the other end of the phone, he didn't care. “I just want you. All the time, Jaime. I think about you when I'm in the shower, and I think about you when I'm with him, and I think about you when I'm listening to Margaery Tyrell's stupid fucking babbling, when I'm on a call, when I go to sleep, when I'm touching myself in the way no one else but you can. All the time.”

“Cersei,” Jaime said, long and reverent, his voice a thin and breaking whisper. Cersei squeezed her eyes shut. “ _Cersei._ God, I'm—“

“I wish I was there.” She didn't have to make her voice dip to that warm, heady quality; it came easily when she closed her eyes and imagined Jaime above her, biting at her throat and running his strong hands through her hair, then flipping her over and pulling their hips together in a long, hard thrust that would be so good that it would almost hurt, and it would be so perfect. “On my knees. With my mouth around your cock. Or over a table, being fucked by you.”

“Cersei,” he breathed into the phone, and he sounded _wrecked._ She wanted more.

Cersei's fingers quickened inside of herself, her thumb stroking against her clit and imagining, again, that it was Jaime's hand there, Jaime's hand fucking her to completion, making her feel full and whole and deliciously alive, like nothing in the world could ever touch her with words or fists or anything at all, not Robert, not their father, not anything. When Cersei came, it felt hard and unending, and her back arched from the bed and she saw stars, and she let herself be loud, let her voice reach a pitch it normally didn't. _For Jaime,_ she thought. _For Jaime._

But it was for her, too.

It wouldn't be right, otherwise.

It wouldn't be _them._

When she finally came down, panting, hand soaked, she laid it against her belly and waited, listening to Jaime's quiet, soft grunting of her name in her ear. She knew the moment he came – she always did, even if he wasn't there in front of her. He grew silent but for his sharp, rough breathing, and ended it all on a deep groan from the pit of his chest. She felt warm, sated, and just for now she could pretend that the chill of her anger had died away completely.

“I have to go,” he said suddenly, after a couple of minutes spent breathing softly on the other end. It would have annoyed her if not for the way he added, “I love you, Cersei.”

Cersei felt herself smile, and this time she didn't feel the ache of the bruise at all. “You too, Jaime. Have fun with your meeting.”

He scoffed. “Right,” she heard him say, and she laughed as he hung up.

Cersei fixed her underwear, pulled her robe back on and turned onto her side to look at the mirror across the room. She looked thoroughly spent—and at a certain angle, happy.

It was all Robert would see when she made him pay for his mistakes tomorrow, and as she got up to dress for the rest of the day, she couldn't stop smiling at the thought.


End file.
